Here Without You
by BeebeeThurlow
Summary: Oneshot. Pre-Philosopher's Stone. With the saviour of the wizarding world asleep in her house, Arabella Figg is reminded of her own brutal past. Somewhat violent, disturbing.


**AN**: The vague idea for this came to me today, after a bout of extremely emotional moments, and I found myself almost entranced by the thought of it. Anything in any way scary, or gory, usually terrifies me, and I did get a little bit scared typing this, but I am an absolute wimp. All the same, it's not the nicest of stories, and it does have one instance of graphic detailing, although not too in-depth. Most of you will probably find it rather tame, to be honest.

Please, do review and tell me what you think. I'm always looking to improve on my style and vocabulary.

Thank you.

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><p>Arabella Figg gazed down at the sleeping boy on her sofa and felt, yet again, the familiar twinge of pain and regret in her heart. She reached down and brushed his hair off his forehead to reveal the lightning bolt scar, proof that this was the child that had defeated the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, without even realising he had done so…<p>

He looked so innocent and calm, curled up in a tight ball on the couch… She knew, of course, that this was the most rest he would get for a very long time indeed. These days that she was able to spend with him, she savoured, knowing that she was saving him from the injustice of his guardians for a little while at least, that he could relax here, without fear of being beaten or rudely awakened by one of the three Dursleys.

… She liked having him here for much more selfish reasons, too, however…

You see, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, looked so very much like Adrian Figg. … Arabella could still remember it now, coming home on Christmas Eve with an empty cat basket and a pocketful of Galleons... Her day had gone well, business was always booming around the holidays, and she would be lucky enough to be spending Christmas Day with her family this year, small as it was. She wasn't usually able to, and so this would certainly be special, and memorable.

As she trudged through the thick snow, she drew her cloak in tighter round herself, turning at last onto the small lane down which she lived with her young son, and battling against the heavy snowstorm in order to reach the warmth and security of her little cottage. Her attention was drawn briefly to a slight glow in the sky, muted by the snowfall, and she squinted to try and see what it was, head tilted to one side. Admittedly, given the weather they were having, this was most likely a mistake, as she found herself stepping on a patch of ice while distracted, and plummeted headfirst into a somewhat large snowdrift, flailing round in an attempt to free herself. Arabella finally managed it a moment or so later, shaking herself off and retrieving her basket, just in time for the clouds to part ever so slightly.

This time, the glow was easy to see, and her attention was drawn to the sky once again as a feeling of dread and horror overcame her.

Hovering in the sky above her little cottage, lights twinkling in the distance, was a massive green skull, a smoke-serpent coiling and undulating, hissing silently at the night sky as it emerged from the mouth of the skull.

Instantly, Arabella dropped her basket and sprinted forwards, whimpering to herself as she ran. She never should have left him alone, she never should have gone out without him, she'd thought he would be safe, she'd thought they wouldn't find him here… Her legs began to ache after only a few minutes of hurtling through the snow, but she still didn't let up, losing her cloak along the way. The Squib finally arrived at her cottage and her heart froze, her blood running cold in her veins at the sight of the door smashed open. She stopped running and instead waited a few minutes to catch her breath, her stomach squirming and heaving violently from pure terror. She didn't want to go inside, she knew now what she would find, but she didn't want to see it… her baby, her poor baby…

Arabella steeled herself and closed her eyes, clenching her hands into fists at her sides and wishing, yet again, that she were not a Squib, that she had a wand, anything… as it was, however, she didn't, and so instead found herself entering the cottage completely unarmed, sticking close to the wall.

It was dark, and musty, and she was absolutely terrified, keeping her hand against the wall in order to steady herself. This… was a mistake.

She hesitated momentarily, lifted her hand slowly to her face, and sniffed.

Arabella Figg screamed, wiping her hand furiously on a clean patch of wall and wailing, the scent of blood strong in her nostrils. It was splattered up the walls, she could see now, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hallway, and was pooled on the floor… before forming a large trail, dragging through the hallway and into the living room, which was also pitch black, except for the twinkling lights of the Muggle Christmas tree. Her breathing stopped completely at this point, and for a few seconds, she merely gagged, tears streaming down her face. Careful not to stand on the tracks of blood, she slowly moved into the living room, before coming to a halt, her eyes slowly following the trail. It led, sickeningly, to a large new box in the corner, stacked neatly under the tree, wrapped up in Christmas paper with a giant silk bow on the top. She was hardly able to see at this point, tears clouding up her vision, and she staggered forwards on legs that felt like they belonged to somebody else, dropping to her knees beside the box. Arabella undid the bow, slowly, taking in air in large gulps. This was another mistake, evidently, as she could now taste the blood, strong in the air…

The sight that greeted her was one that would haunt her for the rest of her life, her boy, her baby boy, his body mangled almost beyond recognition, sliced into pieces and broken up to fit into the box. Blood was beginning to seep through the bottom of the box, and was almost reaching Arabella, and yet, she didn't move, transfixed with horror at the worst part of all, a scream caught in her throat. At the very top of the box, wrenched free of the rest of the body, was her seven year old child's head, green eyes wide open, staring soullessly into her face.

Arabella could no longer remember the rest of that night, or the days that followed it. She remembered pain, excruciating agony at the loss of her boy, her Adrian, and she remembered pledging to do everything she could to help bring down the sick, twisted bastard that had destroyed her baby. As a Squid, there wasn't a lot she could usually do… but now, many years on, she had found a purpose, she had found a way.

Under her watchful gaze, the saviour of the wizarding world slept, unaware that any of this had occurred, unaware that in just four more years his life, his world, would be turned upside down by the news that he was a wizard, and not just any wizard… until then, he would be kept safe, Arabella would be sure of it. If anything happened to him, under her eye, she would never forgive herself, just as she had never forgiven herself for the death of her own son.

She knelt down beside the dozing child, a single tear trickling down from her eye as she brushed back his fringe again, gently stroking the scar upon his forehead, and whispering quietly to him.

"Sleep well, Harry Potter… The Boy-Who-Lived."


End file.
